Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me
a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through:
we'll to Sutton-colfield, to-night.
Bard.
Will you give me money, captain?
Fal.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This bottle makes an angel.
Fal.
And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it
make twenty, take them all; I'll answer the coinage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.
Bard.
I will, captain; farewel.
[Exit.
Fal.
If I be not asham'd of my soldiers, I am a souc'd
gurnet: I have mis-us'd the King's press, damnably.
I have got, in exchange of an hundred and fifty soldiers,
three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none
but good housholders, yeomens sons; inquire me out
contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on
the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves as had
-- 57 --
as lieve hear the devil, as a drum; such as fear the report
of a caliber worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt
wild-duck. I press me none but such toasts and butter,
with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins heads,
and they have bought out their services; and now my
whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants,
gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in
the painted cloth, and such as indeed were never soldiers,
but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons
to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fall'n,
the cankers of a calm world and long peace;
and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have
bought out their services, that you would think I had
a hundred and fifty tatter'd prodigals lately come from
swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad
fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded
all the gibbets, and press'd the dead bodies. No
eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll not march through
Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains
march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves* note on;
for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.
There's but a shirt and a half, in all my company; and
the half shirt is two napkins tack'd together, and thrown
over the shoulders, like a herald's coat without sleeves:
and the shirt, to say the truth, stol'n from my host of
St. Albans, or the red-nos'd innkeeper of Daintry. But
that's all one, they'll find linen enough, on every
hedge† note.
Enter Prince Henry and Westmorland.
P. Henry.
How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?
Fal.
What, Hal? how now, mad wag, what a devil
dost thou in Warwickshire? my good Lord of Westmorland,
-- 58 --
I cry you mercy; I thought your honour had
already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there, and you too; but my powers are there already.
The King, I can tell you, looks for us all:
we must away, to-night.
Fal.
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant, as a cat
to steal cream.
P. Henry.
I think to steal cream, indeed; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me,
Jack, whose fellows are these that come after?
Fal.
Mine, Hal, mine.
P. Henry.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal.
Tut, tut, good enough to toss; food for powder,
food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better:
tush, man; mortal men, mortal men.
West.
Ay, but Sir John, methinks they are exceeding
poor and bare; too beggarly.
Fal.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they
had that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never
learn'd that of me.
P. Henry.
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But sirrah, make haste:
Percy is already in the field.
Fal.
What, is the King encamp'd?
West.
He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
Fal.
Well,
The latter end of a fray, and beginning of a feast,
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
[Exeunt.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
